


The Mayor and the Gardener

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Multi, Nonmonogamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A working lunch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mayor and the Gardener

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/ringprov/profile)[**ringprov**](http://community.livejournal.com/ringprov/) Challenges #10 and #16, both word-and-mood challenges.
> 
> If I weren't an F/S/R writer this is still how I would write Rosie.

Sam stirred, waking slowly. He lay on his back, February sunlight was bright but cool on his face, and a warm hobbit sat atop him, straddling him. Although he lived with his Gaffer now, Sam had been planting in Bywater the day before, so he'd spent the night at the Cottons' home; Rosie had made sure he was lodged with Frodo, so that Sam might go to sleep with his arms wrapped round him. Now as he hazed into awareness, he realized that Frodo was not the hobbit currently sitting on him, slowly stroking his chest and waiting for him to open his eyes; a skirt lay across Sam's bare legs, and when he raised his hands to full, soft hips their owner giggled femininely. "Hullo, Rosie," Sam breathed, smiling, still not opening his eyes.

"Hullo, Samwise," Rosie murmured back, and leaned down, pressing her full bosom to his chest. Sam pressed his hands into her warm softness as he slid them slowly up her back, and she made a giggly sort of muffled moan as she kissed him, before pushing herself upright. "Are you awake?"

"I think I ain't," Sam replied, stroking Rosie's bare arms. She must be in her chemise, he thought idly. "When I went to sleep I had a sir in my arms, and now I have a miss. I may be dreaming yet."

"I must wake you with a kiss, then," Rosie replied, voice warm and amused, and she leaned down for another kiss, murmuring with pleasure as Sam tangled his fingers in her curls; then she pinched him, and laughed when he jumped, eyes flying open. "Rosie Cotton, you wicked creature," Sam complained, looking up at her with what he hoped was a mournful expression; Rosie merely stroked his face as she laughed. "Mr. Frodo is up and gone to Michel Delving," she said, sliding off Sam to lie beside him, leg and skirt and arm and hair draped across him. "He said I should make sure you rested. I've been watching you sleep for an hour now."

"An hour!" Sam jumped again, with real alarm this time, and would have gotten up if Rosie's four-limbed embrace hadn't tightened. "Sam, did you not hear me?" she asked. "Mr. Frodo said you should rest, knowing you'd not listen to anyone else say it."

"Well, I'm rested," Sam said gruffly, though his hands were gentle on her arm. "And if he's up I ought to be."

"Not before I pack you a lunch to bring him, to make sure he eats." Rosie smiled fondly. "And I won't pack you that lunch till you kiss me again, Sam."

"You drive a hard bargain, Rosie," Sam replied with a grin, pulling her in for the demanded kiss and several more besides.

 

A little while later (after Rosie's mother, looking for her, had banged on the bedroom door, and Sam had been teased by the Cotton lads, given a bath, and fed a solid first breakfast), Sam found himself holding a basket not much smaller than he was, packed to the brim with Rosie's promised lunch. Between that and his pack of tools, he was glad that he'd brought his pony Bill with him.

"There." Rosie, now in dress and bodice and shawl, pinned his cloak for him as stood at her gate to see him off. "Don't let Mr. Frodo work himself too hard, Sam, and don't you work too hard neither."

"There's much work to be done," Sam replied, and Rosie smiled merrily as she answered, "there is, Sam, and you won't get through it if you tire yourself, will you?" Surrendering, Sam merely shook his head, and smiled back, and kissed her; she laid her hands to his ears to hold him and kissed him till he was warm to his toes. Then she let him go and watched him off, standing by her gate till Sam could no longer see her over his shoulder.

It was a fine late winter morning, sunny and clear, the snow melting and the icicles glinting like shards of mirror; Sam noticed a some spots where trees would fit well, and made mental notes to return, but the basket slung behind him sent him straight to Michel Delving, to the Mayor's office. There was an inn nearby, now back in business, with a stable whose lads were quite happy to take Bill for an hour or two.

When Sam entered the Town Hole he found a few hobbits puttering around the antechamber, sweeping and arranging and, mostly, chatting; on seeing Sam they broke off and greeted him with kisses from the ladies and warm embraces from the lads so that his face fairly burned with blushing. "Is Mr. Baggins in?" he asked as he unwound a lass's arms from about his neck. "Oh, yes," came the chorus, "but he's right busy, he's shut his door, he said he don't want to be disturbed."

"I shan't disturb him," Sam said with a smile, hefting his basket. "I'll just feed him." He managed to free himself from the small crowd long enough to open the office door and get himself and the basket inside; when he shut it and leaned back against it, Frodo was looking up from a pile of papers and smiling at him. "Sam," he said with such warmth it was nearly sung.

"Hullo, Mr. Frodo. I hope you don't mind seeing me twice in a day." Frodo's smile broadened into a grin, and he came round the desk to take Sam's face in his hands, thumbs stroking over Sam's cheekbones. "I could never weary of seeing you," Frodo said, so that Sam's breath caught in his throat, and kissed him as if he were water in a desert.

Then Frodo let Sam go, returning to the desk to pile the papers to the side in an orderly fashion. "What's all this?" Sam asked, hefting his basket to the cleared space. "I thought all you were needed for was to sort out the goods recovered from the ruffians' stores and the shirrifs to their proper number."

Frodo rubbed his hand across his brow. "That was before folk began coming to me with their disputes over who owns what bit of land recovered from shacks, or which heirloom necklace formerly stolen by ruffians, and so on. Not to mention their tales of who worked for the ruffians and what they deserve. These are all the deeds and papers I haven't looked at during the days I've been visiting and mediating and setting things right."

Sam whistled, looking from the pile of documents to Frodo, who leaned on one hand on the desk, paler than the candles in their holder. "Begging your pardon," Sam said---Frodo smiled, though he didn't look up---"but it's a lovely day, Mr. Frodo. I think a walk outside might do you some good."

"Perhaps later, Sam," Frodo said, but at least he looked up, and the smile was still on his face. "Perhaps. What's in the basket? Another deputy mayor?"

"No, just a spot of lunch Rosie sent with me. It would have been here earlier, but she let me sleep in, on orders from a certain gentlehobbit." Sam pulled his best reproving face, but there was no way he could keep it when Frodo laughed warmly and draped an arm round his shoulders. "My poor Sam," Frodo said merrily, and kissed him again; Sam wrapped his arms round Frodo, feeling his slenderness still so close to frailty, and returned the kiss with everything in him, as if to fill Frodo with warmth and strength.

"Mmm, Sam," Frodo breathed over Sam's damp mouth, "can you spend another night at Bywater?" Sam chuckled and shook his head and kissed Frodo again, only releasing him when his knees began to weaken in the warmth. "Come now, Mr. Frodo, I have lunch to feed you."

"I'd rather keep using my mouth for kisses," Frodo said cheerfully, but he uncovered the basket anyway, and sucked in his breath appreciatively. "Did you bring lunch for all of Michel Delving?"

"I just brought what Rosie packed," Sam said proudly; Rosie shared his idea of a proper meal, and was as good a cook as any hobbit. Frodo smiled and pulled out item after napkin-wrapped item, arranging them on the desk: sandwiches of butter and hard cheese or cold sliced mutton; pies with eggs and mushrooms and bacon; more pies, these filled with sour cherry preserves and soft cheese; apples baked in pastry; boiled eggs; two different seedcakes; and a jug of cider to wash it all down. The Cottons had deep cellars, after all, that the ruffians had never found. There was more food still in the basket, but there wasn't any room left on the desk.

Sam lifted the basket down and sat in its place, blushing when Frodo looked at him as if he were the tastiest bit. "Here," he said, peeling an egg and holding it out; Frodo leaned forward and bit it, blue eyes sparkling, and Sam laughed. "All right, then," he said, and broke off a piece of savory pie, and they began feeding each other.

Hobbits take meals seriously, and Sam certainly took feeding Frodo seriously, especially these days, when the chronically thin hobbit was barely more than velvet skin over beautiful bones. Frodo sat back and rested his heels on the desk and sucked on Sam's fingers, but every third morsel or so he took whatever it was from Sam and fed it to him instead, so that everything Sam ate was edged with a sweet inky bitterness. Finally, Sam supported the cider bottle so that Frodo could take a good drink; Frodo came up pink-cheeked and laughing, and when Sam took a swig he discovered that the cider was quite on the hard side.

"Well, I shall have to thank Rosie for this feast," Frodo said, reaching for the cider again. Sam looked at him critically but held it for him, and noted how rousingly Frodo's blue eyes twinkled after another pull. "There's just one more thing I'd like," Frodo said, mischief flickering in his voice as he stood up, and Sam couldn't help but laugh as Frodo leaned over him, planting his hands on either side of him. "On the Mayor's desk, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, leaning back; Frodo grinned and waggled his eyebrows as he wriggled his hips between Sam's legs and kissed him, tasting of seedcake and cider and happiness, and Sam gave himself over to the kiss and Frodo's demanding hands pulling their hips together.

Then those hands slid up onto his back, and Frodo kissed his way across Sam's cheek to lay his head on Sam's shoulder. "I suppose we shouldn't," he said, a bit more soberly, tightening his arms round Sam. "Do you know when you'll next come by Bywater?"

"Two days, I think. I should be back to check over Bag End, and then to plant some more trees further south. Mayhap three days." Sam nuzzled into dark, soft, springy curls. "I wish I could come back with you tonight. I miss Rosie. I miss you."

"We miss you. She asks me all about our adventures. She's uncommonly good to me because of you."

Sam shook his head. "Rosie thinks the world of you, Mr. Frodo." Sam kissed the shell of Frodo's ear. "She ever has, and now more than ever. And she knows what you mean to me." Frodo squeezed Sam tightly, burying his face in Sam's neck, and they held each other for another warm moment before Frodo pulled away. "There are things I should finish if I want to leave before dark," he said with a sigh. "Not least the arrangements for the new Mill. The Sandheavers are coming by tomorrow to pick up their deeds."

"Any news of Sandyman?" Sam hoped not. Frodo nodded, mouth set in a not-quite-smile. "His house burned down, I heard. He was last seen in the Southfarthing. I don't know if it's right, what's been done to him, but..."

"He brought it on himself, far as I can see." Sam realized his fist was clenched when Frodo laid his hand, the wounded one, on it; under that hand Sam unclenched his fist and threaded his brown fingers through three ink-smudged ones, Frodo's thumb stroking across them. "At any rate, Mr. Frodo, much as I'd like to stay, I should be getting on."

Frodo nodded. "See you in two days, my Sam. Good planting."

"See you in two days, me dear." Sam kissed the side of Frodo's head, and Frodo leaned into the touch; then he cleared his throat, and when Sam turned Frodo was grinning and holding up the basket. "I hardly need the rest of this, Sam, heading back to the Cottons' as I am." Sam smiled and didn't argue and took the basket, Frodo's fingers sliding warmly along his as it was handed over. Pinning his cloak on with his other hand, Sam watched Frodo sit down and arrange the papers across his desk, then smile at him once more as Sam let himself out.


End file.
